The Venus Fix

Sixty-Four

At four-thirty, instead of going to her favorite art class, Amanda left school early and got on the Fifth Avenue bus. No one cared if she skipped art. Hell, no one really cared what she skipped anymore. She was a senior and she’d already applied to colleges. This last semester was a joke.

She was nervous during the ride and almost got off twice. What if Dr. Snow broke her promise and went to her parents? What if she went to the principal? What if this fucked up her chances at getting into the school she wanted? Would the guidance counselor write to Brown and Cornell and tell them?

Anything was possible.

There was no way to know.

First she’d get Dr. Snow to promise not to tell anyone. But could she take her word for it? She didn’t know. Timothy had told her that some of the guys had told Dr. Snow some pretty heavy shit over the past few months and she hadn’t blabbed to anyone.

She should have called. She shouldn’t just show up. But she didn’t want the doctor to ask her anything over the phone.

The bus finally stopped at Sixty-fifth Street and Amanda walked quickly from Fifth to Madison, then continued down the block until she found the wrought-iron doors and the small bronze plaque identifying the building as the Butterfield Institute.

She tried the door but it didn’t open.

Then she found the buzzer and pressed it.

What was she going to say if anyone asked who she was? Should she give them her real name? Her whole name? Or just her first name? Would Dr. Snow know who she was if she only used her first name?

She was starting to panic. Then she heard a click and a woman’s voice asking for her name.

“Amanda. I’m here to see Dr. Snow.”

“Come in.”

Inside, Amanda looked around at the high ceiling, the crystal chandelier sending soft light down on the peach walls and bronze leather chairs. Surprised, she kept searching for something that would identify the place as a sex therapy institute.

She was in the right place, wasn’t she?

“Can I help you?”

She walked over to the receptionist, holding on to her backpack so tightly the strap was biting into the flesh of her palm.

“I wanted to see Dr. Snow.”

“I don’t see you down for an appointment?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t have one.”

“Dr. Snow isn’t here today. She had an accident.”

Amanda hadn’t really heard anything after “isn’t here today.” It had taken so much to decide to come. She didn’t know if she could do it again. Tears started to fill her eyes. Fuck, she was not going to cry in front of this preppie chick.

“She’ll be back tomorrow. Do you want to make an appointment?”

Maybe she should just give her the damn CD and ask her to give it to Dr. Snow. But what if she looked at it? What if she figured it out?

“When?”

“She has an hour free on Thursday at five-thirty. Would that work for you?”

Amanda nodded her head quickly. Yes.

But could she really wait? Should she say something? She was afraid-afraid to give herself a chance to say no, to chicken out, to screw up. She’d done enough of that already. Delivering this CD to Dr. Snow was something she had to do. Dr. Snow would know what to do. She had to. Enough people had died already. Nothing would happen between now and then. Nothing would.

Amanda shuddered.

“You okay?” the blonde asked.

“Not really,” Amanda said, but before the girl could ask her anything else, she ran out.